Works

To cleanse his eyes, Tom Brock makes much ado,
But not his mouth, the fouler of the two.
A clammy rheum makes loathsome both his eyes:
His mouth, worse furr'd with oaths and blasphemies.

Buggins is drunk all night, all day he sleeps;
This is the level-coil that Buggins keeps.

Money thou ow'st me; prethee fix a day
For payment promis'd, though thou never pay:
Let it be Dooms-day; nay, take longer scope;
Pay when th'art honest; let me have some hope.

Bungy does fast; looks pale; puts sackcloth on;
Not out of conscience, or religion:
Or that this younker keeps so strict a Lent,
Fearing to break the king's commandement:...

Burr is a smell-feast, and a man alone,
That, where meat is, will be a hanger on.

End now the white loaf and the pie,
And let all sports with Christmas die.

You have undone Horace, - what should hinder
Thy Muse from falling upon Pindar?
But ere you mount his fiery steed,
Beware, O Bard, how you proceed: -
For should you give him once the reins,...

Case is a lawyer, that ne'er pleads alone,
But when he hears the like confusion,
As when the disagreeing Commons throw
About their House, their clamorous Aye or No:
Then Case, as loud as any serjeant there,...

Center is known weak-sighted, and he sells
To others store of helpful spectacles.
Why wears he none? Because we may suppose,
Where leaven wants, there level lies the nose.

When Chub brings in his harvest, still he cries,
"Aha, my boys! here's meat for Christmas pies!"
Soon after he for beer so scores his wheat,
That at the tide he has not bread to eat.

A roll of parchment Clunn about him bears,
Charg'd with the arms of all his ancestors:
And seems half ravish'd, when he looks upon
That bar, this bend; that fess, this cheveron;...

Cob clouts his shoes, and, as the story tells,
His thumb nails par'd afford him sparrables.

Cock calls his wife his Hen: when Cock goes to't,
Cock treads his Hen, but treads her underfoot.

Comely acts well; and when he speaks his part,
He doth it with the sweetest tones of art:
But when he sings a psalm, there's none can be
More curs'd for singing out of tune than he.

What is the reason Coone so dully smells?
His nose is over-cool'd with icicles.

Crab faces gowns with sundry furs; 'tis known
He keeps the fox fur for to face his own.

Craw cracks in sirrop; and does stinking say,
Who can hold that, my friends, that will away?

One silver spoon shines in the house of Croot;
Who cannot buy or steal a second to't.

Cuffe comes to church much: but he keeps his bed
Those Sundays only whenas briefs are read.
This makes Cuffe dull; and troubles him the most,
Because he cannot sleep i' th' church free cost.

Love, like a Gypsy, lately came,
And did me much importune
To see my hand, that by the same
He might foretell my fortune.

He saw my palm; and then, said he,
I tell thee, by this score here,...